


Resist [breakdown]

by sunshinekat



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinekat/pseuds/sunshinekat
Summary: After all the previous confessions, this one might be the one that damns his soul to hell.  [dubcon] [slash]





	Resist [breakdown]

Nick wakes up with Joseph’s last words ringing in his ears.

_“If I had a chance to do it all over again, the accident, the hospital, those last few moments with her. Of course I would do it, my destiny is set, Nick, it’s not my place to change God’s will.”_

He was mighty casual about murdering his newborn daughter. And there was just something about that that rubbed Nick the wrong way, had him up in arms about just the mere thought of doing that to a child. His brain filled with thoughts of Kim, of their child still unborn, and while he wasn’t happy about it being a girl, he would- he would never… never do such a thing to his own child.

Joseph Seed was broken, all the Seed brothers were broken.

It was the same with John, though he might be more broken than most. Continually destroying the county, and running his little games in his so-called Chapel. What was that one verse? -slow to anger and great in mercy.

Nick hadn’t thought coherently about his family or the world outside this place in a while. He curled up against the corner of his cell, feeling the familiar aches and pains of his agonized body. They were keeping him well fed with MRE’s but he was worn down to his core. He was god knows how deep under ground in this hell hole. Not to mention the armed guards, but somehow, his rage made him want to fight them when they came for him, dig his teeth into someone’s throat. He could probably kill a few of them before they got him.

He wonders if they’d kill him this time, if John would let them.

Nick curls in on himself, his shirt was damp, his bandages were probably soaked and slipping. What was it that asshole doctor told him? Scarring nicely.

His first one had already scabbed over completely and the hardened flesh made it hard to breath sometimes, each breath forcing the delicate skin apart making it bleed.

As he lay in the dark he could feel each and every one of his wounds, he couldn’t help but mirror them to his sins. It was the Eden’s Gate doctrine finely embedded in his brain, the pain he was suffering was needed for him to fully atone. And when he was atoned he would be born again, or some shit.

John was always whispering it in his ear, telling him that the pain is something he deserved, and when he finally realized he deserved that pain he would understand that his sins were the cause. Of course, he’d run out of things to say, goddamn they’ve been at if for months now? John had been so terrifying at the start, like a live wire just waving in the wind, ready and willing to do some damage. His enthusiasm had served to feed into Nick’s terror.

Until Joseph had exposed the truth behind his belief.

Who had cleansed Joseph? Had he been scarred for his sins?

Knowing what Joseph truly was forced Nick to realize he couldn’t give in here, couldn’t let John break him. Couldn’t let the damn cult get what it wanted out of him.

Knowing what he did now of Joseph, forced him to reflect on John. John’s sadistic need for control, his rage, some of the things he said, how he’d been acting for their last few sessions. His hesitance, that lost look on his face as he’d sat there staring at Nick. He hadn’t done anything that time, hadn’t touched him, he’d only sat and stared. That had been worse than all the sessions before it. Because it showed Nick how deep Joseph’s claws were in John, and how fine the line was between Joseph and sanity was for him.

When he thinks about the Chapel, of the hanging bodies wrapped in black plastic, or the demented sculptures of deer skulls and Bliss flowers, or the tool box full of John’s toys, the terror wasn’t there any more. There was just acceptance, and a feeling of something he couldn’t push down, couldn’t hide. The desperation to get back to his family, to escape trumped all the fear he’d been drowning in.

Faced with another session in who knows how much time, Nick let sleep take him trying to come up with something he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

An escape plan.

They take him in his sleep. One moment, he’s in a field of bliss flowers and Faith is holding his hands smiling at him, and the next there’s light in his eyes and a burning pain in his spine as he wakes up being dragged along the floor.

He tries to latch onto something but there’s nothing to grab, the guards walking behind him see he’s awake, “Hey he’s awake, someone pick him up.”

Nick is still bleary with sleep, still dazed from the lights, he’s hoisted up and his wrists are zip-tied, he’s shoved forward, “Keep going, Rye.” the guard behind him grunts.

Nick follows, his brain still not truly comprehending what’s going on, when the smell of Bliss infused incense hits him he comes to awareness, but he’s already half-way up the steps and he knows fighting now won’t get him to his family, it’ll just get him killed.

He pushes forward, steeling himself for the oncoming storm. He’s led to that goddamn chair, but the arms were removed, he stands in front of itas the guard behind him presses the mouth of his 9mm against the small of his back, while the one in front cuts his zip ties. They switch places and he’s seated on the chair, the cool metal sharp and aching against his raw skin. The guards weren’t allowed to beat on him or starve him, but they had to get their kicks somehow.

His hands were zip tied to the back of the chair, his ankles zip tied to the legs of the chair and duck taped.

The guards leave him alone in the room, Nick can feel the low dosage of Bliss coursing through his veins. He can sort of see Faith standing by one of the bodies. Her visage is faded, a flicker of white lace, and long blonde hair.

He glances around looking for John’s toy box, but he can’t see it, usually it’s on the table made ready for his use. But the table sits empty.

Before Nick has a chance to think about anything else, there is a loud slam and footsteps coming up the metal stairs. John appears with his little torture kit in hand, he slams it on the table without looking at Nick.

Nick, on the other hand, instead of that dizzy feeling coming over him as he disassociates from the situation the minute he sees John. He consciously chooses to watch what John does. John is standing in front of the table, dark hair askew, his sunglasses are gone, so is his trademark vest. In fact, his shirt and pants are wet and dripping. He opens the metal box and starts arranging his tools. His breaths are quick and heavy like he’d been running. Had he?

“My apologies for making you wait, Nick.” John says with a wry laugh. “I had a few prior obligations to handle.”

Like going for a swim, apparently.

Nick’s eyes narrow when he sees John take hold of the scalpel, he knows that’s going to cut into his shirt, just because it’s the last unbroken item of clothing he has.

Nick doesn’t know if he should answer, usually John goes on these rants as soon as he walks in, but he’s gripping that scalpel tightly, something he does when he’s holding back.

Unlike the other times however, he interrupts Nick’s thoughts by stabbing the scalpel into the table. The blade cuts through the wood easily.

“Of course, like everyone else, you have nothing to say.” John says bitterly, he stares down at the table and starts to mutter to himself in low whispers.

Nick immediately knows something is wrong, and he hates that he’s so attuned to John’s emotions. He doesn’t care if he’s finally lost it, he needs to escape, and if he can’t escape right now he needs to stay alive. And with John’s grip on that scalpel, with his low mutterings it was looking more like keeping Nick alive was not turning out to be worth the trouble.

“It wasn’t long.” Nick says suddenly, trying to get John to stop talking himself into a nervous breakdown. But also hating that he had to talk to this asshole.

John stops muttering, he sweeps his hand through his damp hair, “I see.” he turns to Nick, his blue button up shirt soaked and sticking to his skin, the claw marks on his chest were obvious, the sight of them made Nick feel nauseous, John had killed someone just a few minutes ago hadn’t he.

“Well,” John says, rubbing his left arm, “That’s good then isn’t it? You weren’t waiting long so it’s all okay then isn’t it? It’s fine because...well, because God waits for nobody. Don’t cut in line on your way to fucking heaven!” He laughs, walking to the table and staring down at his tools, he starts to arrange them, and Nick catches sight of one of the blades, still sticky with blood. Fuck. Fuck.

John’s hands are shaking when he holds it, it slips from his hands and he walks away from it to the other side of the room. When he starts to pace, Nick can hear him whispering. He can’t think of what to say, of how to get him out of whatever the fuck mental state he was in, christ he was tied up, left at this maniac’s mercy.

“Why are you wet?” Nick asks, he says it quickly, just incase it’s the wrong thing then there’s a chance that John might miss it.

He doesn’t, he stops walking and stares down at his shirt, “Wet?...oh fuck...” he touches his hair again, wringing little droplets that fall to the dirty floor.

“Had to shower before coming in...” John says softly, he doesn’t look at Nick just stares at his hands, “Had to...she bled all over me.”

“Who did?” Nick says, his brain was not following his mouth anymore, he had no time to think about it, he had to follow this line of conversation to bring John to where he needed to be, to make him remember that killing Nick was against what Joseph wanted. And John always did what Joseph wanted.

John sighs, “I don’t know her name, she never told me.”

“W-why did she die?”

“She wouldn’t confess.” John says it so matter of fact it sends chills down Nick’s spine. “All she had to do was confess and it would have been alright. She endured so much, all she had to do was confess, and I knew she was this close-” his brings his hand up, his thumb and forefinger closing in until the distance between them was unseeable, “This close to confession, I could sense it. I can always sense when the truth is about to come out. It’s like...it’s like a sunrise you know..when you’re on a plane and you can see that split second the sun is about to rise and there’s a small flash of light.” he turns to Nick, eyes wet and desperate, “I saw that flash in her, I saw her understand her sin, she had worn it all her life, and I was going to tear it out of her one last time.” his breath stuttered, his eyes desperately seeking something in Nick’s face, something Nick wasn’t sure how to give him.

“Why did she die?” Nick repeats.

“She didn’t...I didn’t mean to...” John whispers, he walks to Nick, that fucking scalpel in hand again and he kneels down in front of him. Nick’s heart begins to pound, fear thrumming through his veins, pulsing in the back of his head.

“I was taking her sin from her when she died, she threw herself on me and the blade was in her throat she bled out in seconds.” John says it softly, a gentle whisper. “She could have been saved, but she died a sinner.”

John is too close, he rests his cheek on Nick’s knee, his hands coming to rest on Nick’s thighs. A thousand thoughts run through Nick’s mind about what to say to that, how to address the madness coming out of John Seed’s mouth.

“Why does this upset you.”

John’s blue eyes swiveled up to meet his, that cold, dead stare was on him.

“It doesn’t.” John says, softly, “But Joseph will be...displeased with the news. You’ve met him you...you know what he’s like.”

All soft words, all righteous will and a thin sliver of rage underlining all of it. Every single word poisoned with ill will.

Nick thinks about the sign put up by the local drugstore in Fall’s End, “Fuck Joseph Seed.”

John stares up at him, if this had been the usual John, he’d have a hand around his throat in seconds.  
John doesn’t move from his place, he stares up at Nick, waiting.

“I don’t...see him here...” Nick says shakily, “Fukin’, you know, cleansing anything.” Nick bites out, wishing he could move away from that gaze.

“I see you...” Nick mutters, looking up at the hanging light, “You cut into all these people, cut into me...Joseph comes ‘round, says some holy bullshit but he doesn’t cut into no-one.”

“Nick, stop.” John says, he lets out a soft breath and leans back. His shoulders are tense, his face is pale, perfect hair a little frizzed out from air drying. The exhaustion is evident in his every movement, at that very moment he was actually struggling to stand up.

Nick swallows hard, “Got yourself a raw deal I think...”

“You don’t know anything about raw deals, Nick Rye.” John says, his voice a hard line, the only sign of strength about him.

“I know what I’m lookin’ at, just a big brother makin' his little brother do all the bad shit-” he tenses when John stiffens at his words, “Then comes back and acts like the good guy...”

He doesn’t know if his words are reaching John, or what he’ll do if they do. Jesus, what will he do if John thinks he’s right? Will he just let him walk out?

“You don’t understand anything.” John hisses, he wipes his face with shaking hands, “Don’t talk to me like you know-”

“If I confess, will that help?”

“It’s not confession if-...” John stops himself, he’d been almost back up on his feet but Nick’s words brought him back down, he stares at him, “No...why? I won’t tarnish the cleansing for-...” he swallows thickly, “You can’t confess, I have to...I can’t let you do that.”

“Nobody has to know, tell Joseph I confessed, cut me again, John. Do it, if he needs skin as proof take it.”

John is gazing up at him, the scalpel drops from his fingers he moves up, crawling between Nick’s legs, his hands traveling carefully up his shirt and to his face, he holds his face completely still. Nick is scared, he doesn’t know what John is going to do but that his words could result his life being taken.

“You’re a sinner, Nick.” he says, the words seem to take all his breath to say, and his hold is cold and clammy, his eyes searching Nick for something. Anything.

“We can pretend,” Nick says, he knows John doesn’t like that, but then he sees John’s gaze flicker toward his mouth, his pupils dilate just a little. His pale cheeks flush, the color rushing back to him, freckles blooming delicately. He sits back, lets out a dark laugh.

“Pretend? Is that what this is? You think,” he slowly stands up, “You think that I can just tell Joseph you’ve confessed, that you are cleansed?” he looks at Nick, “You don’t think about anything other than yourself do you?”

“I’m not the one who just tortured and killed a woman.”

John is back on him in seconds, Nick takes advantage of his closeness and when he presses their mouths together he latches onto John’s lower lip. John kisses back for just the barest moment before pulling back, Nick clamps down on John’s lower lip, not painfully, but enough to him to drag it. John stares at him enraged, “You fuck!” he snarls, “You coward! Deceiver-” he’s panting, Nick can see his cock heavy in his pants, he thinks about Kim. He thinks about his daughter and he thinks about getting out of here alive.

The scalpel still lays discarded, John attention finally taken away from it. Nick is bordering between fear of John’s retaliation, and the overwhelming need to force him to submit. He can’t deny that need, the craving for control is eating him alive.

“I can’t move my arms, can’t move my fucking legs-” he’s close to sobbing, the desperation pricking behind his eyes, “Can’t eat what I want, can’t tend to my own fucking wounds because of you!” Nick snarls, “I can’t leave my fucking cell or this place, I just have this goddamn chair- and fuck it John,” he ground out, John is walking to his table, hands moving frantically over his instruments, he can’t pick one, can’t choose one because he’s not in control anymore, “I’m going to have you.”

John stops moving, he glances at Nick, eyes wide, the need rising like fire. He slams his fists against the table, “Shut up!” he snarls, “You have nothing! You are a goddamn sinner-” Nick is in awe of the conflict going through John in those last few moments, he could see that loyalty was losing against his desire. He hadn’t known it was there before, the desperate situation he’d been put into had forced this on them both. Nick was not going to die here.

“Then dispose of me-” Nick hisses, “Do it, I’m not going to break, you know it, I know it, you might as well do it now because you won’t see with me what you did with her.” he ground out, “There is no redemption in my future.”

John let out a desperate growl and went to where Nick was, bound and helpless. He comes to stand in front of him and grabs a tuft of Nick’s hair and makes him look up, he leans down, their faces inches away, Nick’s eyes drift to John’s mouth again, he can’t help it. He knows what it tastes like now.

“You know as well as I do, I can’t kill you.” John whispers, “And I want to, I really, really want to.”

Nick knows he can’t move, but he wants to, his brain isn’t working right now, but he wants to grab John by the collar of his shirt and drag him down, curl his fingers against the back of his head and kiss him hard.

Joseph’s kind touch had burned like fire to Nick’s senses. The ensuing contact had confused his body, pain was pleasure, pain was pain, a kind touch was near ecstasy. John’s fingers in his hair were like lighting through his whole body, it didn’t help when John straddled him, firm flesh pressed against firm flesh, the only barrier between them was Nick’s worn jeans and John’s black slacks.

John’s mouth was inches away now, Nick saw no reason why he shouldn’t kiss him now, but the doubt rose anyway. He chose to ignore it, to smother his desperation in the rising tide of arousal taking over his body. John’s mouth is soft, open, Nick delves in tilting his head a little to get closer. John’s fingers tighten their hold but don’t move. His hips rock against Nick’s deliciously, forcing a moan from his mouth. The kiss is all he has, Nick can’t touch him like this, can’t reciprocate any other way but with his mouth. He drags his lips away from John’s, relishing the lost, trembling breath that leave’s John’s mouth when they part.

He drags his lips along John’s bearded cheek, pressing kisses along his jawline down to his neck. He senses John tense against him, ready of course, for the clamp of traitorous teeth in his throat. Nick ignores that and find the black ink of a tattoo and latches to it.

John moans, and it’s a wonderful sound. Certainly better than what usually comes out of his mouth. Nick wants him to make more, wants more.

John’s hand comes up to Nick’s stomach, knuckles dragging along the damp cloth of his shirt, two fingers sneak under the cloth and rub teasingly along the top of his jeans. Nick’s thighs clench under his jeans, he feels the warm intrusion of John’s fingers slide along his cock, curling around it and giving an experimental jerk. Nick pulls back from John’s neck to gasp, his heart is racing, adrenaline rushing through his system flooding it with endorphins. He looks up at John, his gaze is lost, there’s a need in there that Nick swears is a reflection of his own.

John’s fingers escape Nick’s pants, he brings them up to Nicks’ mouth, he didn’t tear out his throat, he wasn’t going to bite off any fingers. Nick sucks them in, arms straining in their binds, if he could get out of this chair , the things he would do.

John is watching him suck on his fingers, it’s the same look he’s given others when they did the same. And he has had others, there’s a tiny bitter, angry part of himself that forces him to remember what their faces looked like.

None of them have been murderers and psychopaths.

Somehow that revelation doesn’t change how he feels about it, he sucks on John’s fingers like they hadn’t been gripping a scalpel to a woman’s throat just hours ago, he can taste sweat, he can taste a bit of himself too, it sends a rush of heat through him at the thought. John pulls his fingers out, slippery with saliva, a thin strip of it clinging to the tip of his finger and Nick’s lips. Nick’s watching his fingers lower, John’s other hand releasing his hair in favor of his pants to unbutton and unzip his jeans, pulling out his cock and curling those damp fingers around it.

Nick moans again, can’t stop himself. Every ache in his body is alight with agonized pleasure, he looks at John who looks back at him, he leans in, drawing him into another kiss.

Several times the knowledge of what he’s doing comes back. He’s kissing the man who has been slowly skinning him alive. He’s letting him jack him off, letting this monster whose been kidnapping people get him off.

And then he tells himself he’s doing it for survivals sake.

It’s not because his mind is broken, and he’ll take what he can have even if it’s just one thing.

John is clinging to him, his fist pumping between Nick’s legs, but his own cock is left untouched. Nick wants to tell him to untie him, but deep down he doesn’t want that. If he’s cut free he has to fight his way out, and die trying. Because if he’s cut free he can’t not fight. He can’t push John down onto the floor like he wants to, or bend him over that goddamn table and fuck his brains out like he wants to.

Honestly he doesn’t know where this is going to go, how long this can last before John talks himself out of it.

Or into it, as John reveals as he leans back from the kiss. He stands and unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants over his chest.

“This is a test...” John whispers, he looks at Nick’s cock, thick and heavy. Nick is watching John with a nervous anticipation.

“Test how?” Nick asks.

John steps out of his pants, and it’s a strange sight for him to stand in the chapel half naked with his button up covering most, of his body, but even that is unbuttoned revealing all his tattoos.

“You are my test, my sin exposed and the only way to redeem myself is to confess.” John walks back to him and straddles him again, one hand gripping the back of the chair, the other between their legs, keeping Nick’s cock pressed against the hardening warmth of John’s flesh. “Confession can only be made through pain.”

John’s movements are efficient, he doesn’t say anything to explain himself, and Nick only follows what he’s doing because he’s sensing that John might do something crazy involving his dick and he doesn’t want it to get cut off.

It’s not, John presses unbelievable close, so close their chests are touching and his cock is being enveloped. John’s face is next to his, flushed and sweaty as he takes him in. It takes slow, deliberate thrusts for John’s body to get the idea, he hisses in pain a first, but the cock pressing insistently against Nick’s stomach stays volumes about how John feels about pain.

Nick is biting down on John’s shoulder, the tightness of his body is almost painful, all encompassing and when he’s seated fully it’s all he can do not to come right then and there. John’s flesh pulsing all around him.

John doesn’t move, and Nick can’t, they sit so precariously on this chair if he tries they’ll come toppling down.

John is breathing against his ear, soft, little sounds leaving his mouth, his hips move after a few torturous moments, it’s slow, the slide is difficult, Nick can feel John’s heated flesh push and pull against him. It’s sweet, sweet agony, he hates being unable to push up into that tight, hot space. The swell of John’s ass feels delicious pressing against his thighs.

John’s hands are looped around his neck, his hips moving slowly, rocking back and forth, the chair squeaking in protest beneath them.

“Fuck...” Nick hisses, “You’re lucky you got me tied down, Seed.” he bites out, sucking another hickey into John’s throat. John laughs, growing bolder with his movements.

Nick aches to push his hands under John’s thighs to give him support, wants to lay him out, loop one of those long legs over his shoulder and go to town.

John’s face is buried in his neck, but he lifts his face and glances at him, arousal mixed with confusion.

Damn, must have said that out loud.

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Sinner.” John whispers, he leans in and kisses Nick again, his hips moving up in speed, finally giving in to the need they both felt. John thrust his hips hard against him, the chair scraping the floor beneath them. His hands immediately grabbing the back of Nick’s neck as he moved, Nick glared up at him, frustrated, helpless to the heated movements of his body.

John’s back arches deliciously, he’s close, desperate for it, Nick wants to get him there any way he can, but the zip ties have no give, he feels used, frustrated for it. He wants to give John what John is giving him.

That line can’t be crossed and they both know it, he’s left to watch John bring himself over the edge with soft, aborted thrusts of his body over Nick’s, cock embedded deep in his body.

His flesh clenching around Nick is what makes him come in the end, visions of John giving in and cutting him free left to fantasy. He’s buried to the hilt when it happens, filling John up with his come, John lets out a needy moan from it.

Nick doesn’t know if he should apologize, decides against it when John continues to grind his hips after it’s done.

John detaches from his carefully, almost stumbles back to his pants, Nick watches as he pulls his pants back up. He looks wrecked and Nick wants to ease that pain. He hates that he’s so far away right now, Nick always cuddles after he’s come, always wants to spoil and make his partner feel safe.

These restraints are preventing him from giving John just that.

John leans one hip against the table, and he stares at Nick like he’s trying to think about what to do with him.

Nick is only thinking about how exhausted John looks right now.

It’s the only thought that enters his mind, because if he thinks about anything else he’s going to scream and never stop.

In the end, John doesn’t touch him after that, once he’s tucked into his pants he’s left for the guards to collect.

In the darkness of his cell, with nothing but silence for company Nick’s only thought is that at least he’s alive.

At least he’s alive.


End file.
